Fear
by Zombie-Ta
Summary: After Johnathan Crane escapes from Arkham asylum he tries to spread his villainous wings. But will the Joker, also fresh from Arkham, use Scarecrow to further his own career? Slash, Joker x Scarecrow. Rated M for sexual content, language and naughtiness.
1. Smile Like You Mean It

_Fear_

_A Joker X Scarecrow (Johnathan Crane) Slash._

_By Zombie-Ta_

_Don't like it? Get the FUCK out._

_Also, I'm writing as "The Dark Knight" (NOLAN-VERSE) style just because Cillian Murphy and Heath Ledger action is just too sweet to pass up, yeah?_

_Disclaimers - There's going to be smut in this story as it goes on. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot of it. It's male on male, homosexual and very explicit._

_I have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do._

_I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do._

_Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock._

**Fear**

_**Chapter One - Smile Like You Mean It**_

"Whhhat aarrrre yooou afraaaaid offff?"

The creature that had once been a brutal drug dealer from the meaner streets of Gotham squirmed in the corner. His face was a mask of terror, mouth slack with a high-pitched scream. His eyes opened up to show the gleaming whites, face slick with sweat running in stinking rivers between the stubble on his pasty mug. Behind the rough burlap mask with a stitched grin and torn eyes the young man's lips quirked up slightly. He was Dr. Johnathan Crane... Or at least he had been Dr. Johnathan Crane before that nasty encounter with the Batman. He shivered inside of the layers of his costume, pale skin prickling under the expensive business suit that he had stolen. As if a chill could penetrate those layers of ripped rough cloth that made him what he was right now. His alternate persona which had only grown stronger in the recent months, strengthened by his short stays in Arkham, fed by the fears that he tried to shun in the night.

"WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?!" He barked, enjoying the scream that the pusher issued forth. He had struggled on the ground, crawling and scampering like an insect, to get away from the monster that was Scarecrow. Now tears mixed with the sweat on his face, he lifted his hands and shielded his head from Crane, who was riding high. He enjoyed the fear he saw on the man's face, he could taste it on his tongue sweet and hot. He bent down and put his face down to the drug dealer, so they were nearly nose to nose, using his long fingered hands to hold the man's wrists. The drug dealer screamed and Johnathan could on imagine what he saw while looking into the nearly featureless burlap mask. The doctor forcibly pushed away the memory of what he had seen while looking into the Batman's face after getting a shot of his own medicine.

The months in Arkham, after he'd been caught the night of his release by... That man... Everything after being sprayed by his own weaponized fear drug was hazy. He remembered holding conversations inside his own head with his long time muse Scarecrow. The young doctor hadn't feared that part of him before, not ever, but then again the arrogant doctor wasn't accustomed to fearing much... Back then. Now, however he was fear. Or at least he was when he had his costume on, but then again once the hood was slipped over his head Crane ceased being Crane anyway. He relinquished his body to his other half, Scarecrow. The adventures half, the half that wanted to rip and maim and kill and most importantly scare. With out the hood Crane still wasn't his old self, or at least not the real Johnathan Crane. The old Crane was a creator of fear, he was a confident doctor, a God damned genius of amazing proportions! Fearless and arrogant, ignorant to his own monsters, the ones that now tortured Johnathan in the night.

He often didn't sleep at night, the dark was full of too much unknown. The Batman might be lurking in the shadows made by his half closed door, or under the bed, or in closet. Countless other places! Crane would lay awake in his bed, icy blue eyes open and shifting around in the darkness and finally when light appeared in the horizon sometimes he would sleep. But those weren't the nights he spent away from his small apartment in the slummiest districts of the Narrows, the nights when he was spineless Johnathan Crane. Tonight he was Scarecrow, proud and terrifying and deep down the hidden meek Crane reveled in what horrors he could instill in people. People that had beaten him down for most of his life. Scarecrow tilted his head and looked at the screaming heap of humanity in the face. It was the appearance that Crane had been pitted against sense elementary school, a bully and a wretch.

"Look at the power I have over you..." Scarecrow mumbled and then lifted the drug dealer to his feet, who came easily but still screaming. "Look at the way I can make you SREAM!" He yelled the last word and slammed the thug's head against the unpainted drywall of the living room. He'd come for the thug in the night, slithering into an open window from the fire escape and spraying him while he cooked heroin on the couch. Crane smiled in his soft way under his mask again, just a slight twitch to his unseen lips. "Now..." Whispered Scarecrow, covering the thug's mouth with one hand cutting off his screams, the other hand was lightly on the man's neck holding him upright on that wall.

"I want you to tell me exactly why I haven't gotten my pay yet?" He looked into the thug's fear fevered eyes, catching a small amount of understanding there. Scarecrow let go of his mouth and the thug choked on a scream only to have his cry silenced again by Crane's quick hand. "I'm going to ask you again..." Said Scarecrow in his harsh whisper, hearing his deep voice crackle in his throat. "WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN PAID YET?" The thug's head was jarred back into the wall as Scarecrow shook him with adrenaline induced strength. The drugs that Crane had delivered to this dealer three days ago had not been paid for yet... They weren't a custom job, just the hallucinogen that the League had commissioned him to make. Well, Crane had to admit that he thought that it was strange that a low life like this had wanted the fear inducing toxin for recreational use, but then again Crane had no business with this man other then a simple exchange drugs for money. Well, Crane thought to him self while looking through the torn eye holes of his mask, he had watered down the mixture and added a few things to make it different then his original structure.

Not that it should matter. He panted, the slight amount of vicious physical activity had tired him out. Crane was never a very physically imposing man, always thin and average height. More bookish then anything he supposed and this villain thing was an energy costing endeavor. Johnathan's mouth was open behind his hood, a small amount of spittle had landed on his full pink lips from his angry out burst. His blue eyes widened, then shrunk down to their usual half lidded arrogant place as he took his hand from the criminal's mouth again. The man wasn't looking at Scarecrow anymore, his wide terrified eyes were locked behind him. The thug screamed at a throat bursting pitch, and a blood vessel burst in his bugging eyes. Crane smelled the strong scent of urine and looked down as the man spilled his bladder, all the while screaming in one long note.

The drug dealer's chest seemed to burst open, splitting his grimy tee-shirt at the same time Crane let go of him and fell back onto the ground in shock. The drug dealer was hit with a barrage of bullets, splattering his fleshy middle on the wall behind him. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as the thug slid down the wall, leaving a trail of thick red blood and guts. Crane looked with mild shocked interest as the man's inner workings spilled out of his torn stomach and slithered all over his thighs like a spilled bucket of snakes. "Well..." there was a short pause and a soft sound like a soft hand on wet skin. "I'm out of bullets." Crane, abandoning his Scarecrow exteriors barely had time to scream before he fell to the ground of the apartment floor. The world swam in his eyes and the sensation of warm blood running from above his right ear was ignored. He saw a pair of brown leather shoes and the cuffs of purple suit pants before the gun was dropped by his head. The sound like soft wet flesh being caressed was herd again and he felt a slight prodding near his rib cage. "... Pick him up will yaaa? ... Um... Fuck... Put him in the caaaaar..."

Crane felt rough hands on his body, hoisting him up like a carpet. His head lolled back on a boneless neck and he caught the blurred sight of a purple shape crouching low, blocking his view of the thug. The man shape turned and looked back toward him, locking eyes with Crane, who whimpered as he saw a mangled face covered in sick war pain. His head met with the frame of the door as the man how held him looked back toward Joker. The doctor finally slipped into unconsciousness as his glasses slipped off of his face from under his hood. They landed on the floor, the slim silver frames bouncing on the stained shag carpet of the floor. Joker snarled at the thug to be careful with him, that they needed Crane before the Clown Prince of Crime turned back to the mangled body of the drug dealer. His purple gloved hands lifted and he softly touched the man's face, caressing the thug like and old friend. Joker slapped him softly as if to wake him up and then stood and walked out of the room whistling with the mixed smell of urine, blood and gun smoke in his nose. He stopped and picked up Crane's glasses from the floor in a fluid movement, licking his lips letting his tongue linger on his torn smile.


	2. Bad Days

_Fear_

_By Zombie-Ta_

_A Joker X Scarecrow slash._

_Don't like it? GET THE FUCK OUT!_

_Anyway._

_Here's a bit of an author's note. The last written chapter was my first fan fiction ever written! I don't really care if you think it sucks but I'd be really pleased to have some creative reviews to go on. I plan for there to be about three or four parts, counting this one and the last one. _

_Basically this story is taking place sometime after The Dark Knight. The Joker has escaped and is looking to reinvent the formulas that Crane has come up with for his Scarecrow costume to fuck with the population of Gotham in an effort to make Batman come out of hiding._

_In all honesty I don't think I'm going to take that plot anywhere, because I mostly just wanted a reason to write slash. Well, yeah. So there's a few more warnings in this one. There's some rape, rather hateful and more violence. So I'd like to warn all of you readers for that. Also, I use lots of profanity, some people make take more offence to this then the gore or the rape. I'd just like to say that the character's dialogue is their own, they do not reflect my own views in anyway._

_Disclaimers - have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do._

_I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do._

_Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock._

**Fear**

_**Chapter Two - Bad Days**_

Joker looked down at the man shaped thing on the floor of the moving van, up front his two most recent associates drove and argued over Playboy issues and smoked. The smell was hot and sweet in his nose, mixed with the familiar burn of gun smoke that still lingered around him like a fog. That and the wild coppery scent of blood, he inhaled deeply, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "Baaahhhh..." He moaned, bringing his head back down and lifted himself from the floor of the van. He stood in a surfer like manner, holding his balance as the van slipped unnoticed through the streets of Gotham. The Joker walked over to where the body of Scarecrow lay docile and quiet, Joker was captivated for a moment. His green haired head cocking to the left, then the right. His tongue slithered from the soft red pads of his lips to linger on the scars that met with the corners of his mouth. Like a cat stalking a sleeping mouse he was unable to tear his dark brown eyes away from the layers of ripped brown cloth that covered Crane. It was like looking at an unopened birthday present, Joker took a lithe step forward and at the same time slipped a gloved hand into the pocket of his long purple coat. He quickly fished a kitchen knife out, like a well practised magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. The lean man took another step forward, his eyes still locked on the man even if they were burning with insanity just below the surface.

The van rounded a corner hard and the body of Scarecrow rolled bonelessly into the side of the van with a muffled thud. Joker was also slammed into the side of the van, falling into the hard side of the vehicle. His head cracked rudely on the shell, he closed his eyes and reveled in the gentle pain, giving a soft chuckle. George, the slimmer, greasier henchman turned in his seat owlishly and said his apologies to the strange man that had hired him. His eyes were large and green, hands fidgety and restless, he was terrified by the Joker and rightfully so. George knew the things that the Joker had done in less then a month to Gotham three years ago. Joker waved his gloved hand at the hired man, his head turned toward Scarecrow again as he moved toward him. Joker grabbed Crane by the shoulder and rolled him over on his back again, he squeezed experimentally at the man's limb. It was thin, nearly just bone covered with leathery muscle, despite the weight that was added to the man's frame from the costume there really wasn't much to him. Joker gave another soft laughing sigh as he straddled the man around the waist, lowering his center of gravity as not to fall again. He liked the feeling of Crane's small waist between his own lean thighs, which he squeezed gently as he lowered his hand to the top of Scarecrow's hood.

He gave the torn burlap a good tug and Johnathan's head bumped on the floor of the van. "Ohhh..." Joker paused and licked his lips, lingering once again on the corners. "Ohhh... My." He said in a low voice, letting the mask drop out of his hand, forgotten. Johnathan's snowy pale face was out in the open, eyes closed like a sleeping child. His black eyelashes lay thickly on the steep rise of his cheek bones. His skin was in stark contrast to his black hair, still longer and parted in the middle, slightly messy now with blood caked on the right side of his head. Joker slipped his gloved hand under Johnathan's chin and moved his head to the side, the wound had stopped bleeding and a shallow cut and a growing bruise were the only real evidence of the blow that incapacitated the man. He rolled the man's head back to look him in the face, his eyes shifting under the soft white lids, as if in a dream. Joker caressed Crane's neck with out really being aware of what he was doing. Sliding the soft leather of his glove over the sharp bump of his Adam's apple which bobbed gently under his thumb. His own tongue flickered out of his mouth again, pulling his bottom lip into his own mouth to nibble at.

Joker's head swam and he was suddenly in the midst of a memory... But was it a memory? He often imagined things from his past, even if they weren't real, he had a habit of thinking that they were. He couldn't even really remember his own name... Had he even had one? Yes, everyone had a name. However that wasn't the memory, real or fake, that was digging at the back of his rotting brain. A woman, yes she had been beautiful, with thick black hair and pale skin. His own private Snow White to look after and love. "To have... To hold..." he whispered roughly. Not aware that his hand had drifted up and was gently rubbing Johnathan's ear lobe as the other hand clutched harder at his nearly forgotten knife. She had been the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on and he had wanted her so strongly... So purely that he had let nothing stop him. His gloved hand trailed ghostly down the other man's neck, leaving the ear slightly pinkish from the caresses. Alas, no one was pure... Joker squeezed at Crane's soft flesh on his throat and Johnathan moaned in protest, whether from the slight strangulation or the fog that his brain floated in.

Joker looked down as Crane's eyes fluttered, his thick eyelashes lifting just a fraction showing his pale blue eyes. "Boss We're here..." Said the soft voice of George, looking back on the purple back of Joker. There was a slam as Crane's head met the floor of the van again and disappeared below the waves of the waking world. Joker let go of the man's neck and looked a the soft black bruises that his fingers had left on the man's neck. The van jerked to a stop, throwing Joker's upper body onto Crane and pressing the slight bulge that had slowly built in the crotch of the other villain against the flat stomach of Crane. Joker wished fleetingly that the layers of various cloths didn't separate them. He shook his head and stood up, feeling his body pine for the missing warmth of Crane. Joker pushed some stray strands of greasy greenish-brown hair away from his face with one had as he opened the back door of the van, pushing them both open with either hand and slipped the dagger back into his pocket.

"C'mon... Let's - uh..." He licked his lips again, the nervous habit became stronger when he was excited or aroused. "Let's get him... In the baaa-ck." Joker jumped out of the back of the van, feeling the hard gravel of the abandoned warehouse parking lot crunch under his feet. The worn brown leather shoes made no other sound as he walked, limping slightly with his shoulders hunched needlessly. The doors of the old Gotham glass factory groaned open like an old man getting out of bed. The doors were heavy but Joker eased them open, scuffling slightly in the gravel as his two hired hands did their separate work. George had slipped over to the driver's seat and was backing the off white van into the wide warehouse floor. Dale, the bigger of the two, by quiet a bit, had Crane over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Joker lead the bull of a man carrying Crane to another room, an old break room that hadn't been cleaned or used for upwards of thirty years. The dust was thick on the unused panes of glass stacked in corners in chipping piles. There was a table laying tipped over in the corner, as most of the warehouse had been cleaned out of valuables. The remaining furniture was either not there when the factory closed, dragged there by teens on drug or drinking sprees or too ugly to take home. There was only a table and an old useless couch with rats sleeping in the center of his fluffy torn body, a kitchen chair lay in beside the table.

Joker righted the table with one hand, and pushed it haphazardly into the center of the room. It was a light kind of steal, dull with dust. Joker brushed off the table top as he placed the old chair on one side of the table, as if making a seat for dinner. Dale walked into the break room and turned a switch that fired up some of the lights. Several went out with sparkling bangs as they burst spreading little bits of glass everywhere on the far side of the room. Most of it landing on the grimy unused counter tops. Dale looked at the Joker and winced but the boss wasn't looking at him. "Bring... Uh... Bring him over here and lay him on the taaa-ble..." He licked his lips again, his tongue had become hyper sensitive and he felt his heart beating in his chest. Dale did as he was told, not hearing George walk into the room behind him as he lay Crane's light body on the table. It was long enough to old his body, with just his feat hanging off of the edge. Dale chuckled as he got a look at Crane in proper light. The soft shell pink pads of his lips and the thick eyelashes made him attractive, in a feminine way but the light black stubble growing on his jaw line made him look more masculine. For some reason they both worked together creating a strange sort of handsome, some might have described it as ethereal, but Dale wasn't known for his vocabulary.

"He looks like a faggot, don't he boss!" Laughed Dale as George came around the side of the table. "Just look at him!" George looked at Joker, gazing down at Crane. His brows knitted together over the dripping layers of makeup he wore. His dark brown eyes lifted to Dale's face quickly, then back down to the doctor's face. His eyes didn't move under the soft pale flesh of his eyelids, he was deep under from three blows to the head in less the forty minutes. Joker bit the finger of the glove on his right hand and removed the soft leather, extending a hand and feeling for the pulse of the man laying on the table. He moved around for a few stressful seconds until his fingers found the soft pulse of Crane beating against his the naked skin of his index and middle fingers. It was hot and good, Joker licked his lips and felt the soft skin under his hand thump with life. "Is he alive boss?" Asked Dale. The Joker looked up and removed his hand from Crane's throat.

"Get out..." He said softly Dale looked up and then scurried out of the room in an unbecoming way for a man of his height and weight, quickly followed by George, who loped across the room at the bigger man's heals. Joker watched them go, George closed the door behind him and suddenly the room was just his. He looked down at Crane, producing a knife from inside one of the many coat pockets and brought the cold blade to the man's throat. His hand shook, eyes widening and permanent grin widening wolfishly, he brought the blade down and felt the cloth of the Scarecrow costume give. He pealed the layers of cotton and burlap from Crane's thin body, leaving him in a fine gray suit with a blue tie. The costume was tossed in the corner of the small dusty room, landing in a heap. Joker took off his other glove and set them neatly inside his coat pocket as he fished out a pair of cuffs from another. Joker picked up Crane's hands, taking the time to touch the soft skin, almost completely unmarked from hard work with long pale fingers with protruding knuckles. The shackles made hard clicking noises as they closed around the man's delicate wrists, locking them in front of his abdomen... Joker found himself slowly lifting Johnathan's shirt, thinking of the pale unmarked flesh that lay just under the layers of soft cotton, separating it from the Joker's hands. The need to touch and caress the skin burned in him like a white hot flame, but there was also the need to rip and kill and take what he wanted.

Joker forced himself to stop, letting his hand fall from Crane's slim waist, instead pulling the thin submissive body onto the kitchen chair. Joker sat atop the table, feeling it to be sturdy despite it's long time in disuse. Positioning Crane's body in a way that it wouldn't slip off of the chair, Joker lifted Crane's head in his hand and began to clean the blood from the side of the other man's head with a slightly used blue handkerchief. He liked the way Johnathan's chin felt in his hand, the bones just under the baby soft skin, he pressed his thumb into the skin and watched as the unconscious Crane winced under his eyelids. Joker stopped squeezing and went about cleaning the doctor up. With each caress and lick to the soft silk Joker began to taste Crane's blood on his tongue... He found the warm red substance to be sweet... Very sweet.


	3. Electric Feel

_Fear_

_A Joker X Scarecrow (Johnathan Crane) slash_

_By Zombie-Ta_

_Don't like it? GET THE FUCK OUT!_

_Anyway._

_So here's another author's note. This will be my third piece of fan fiction and I know that some of you must be getting some anxiety wondering when I'll get to the smut that I have been raving about all this time. And I will! Just calm down and do what you're supposed to do! For those that are duller in the crowd that means read. There WILL be actual smut in this chapter and I've put up two in the same day, this one and the chapter before this. Anyway._

_There will be another few chapters after this one, so don't forget about me. As usual I'd love some feed back!_

_Sooo a few warnings. _

_The sex depicted in this chapter will be rather... Descriptive... For advice on those that find homosexual acts being described is disturbing please see the fourth line on his page. _

_Also, if you are wondering about the tittles of the chapters in each section they are simply songs that I'm listen to at the time. It's more for my amusement then yours, but who cares really. I don't own any of the songs that I use the names of but I would like to thank the various bands that I listen to for their help._

_Once again, the old disclaimers - There's going to be smut in this story as it goes on. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot of it. It's male on male, homosexual and very explicit._

_I have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do._

_I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do._

_Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock. _

**Fear**

_**Chapter Three - Electric Feel**_

Crane's head swam he tried to lift it but the weight became too much for his sore neck, so he let it fall back to his chest. He felt something sneak under the soft skin of his neck, lifting his head gently, then a sensitive prodding to his lower lip. He felt the flesh move softly against his teeth and his tongue stole out and touched the salty thing and found it to be skin. His eyes fluttered and he felt a light tapping on his left cheek bone. A voice, somewhere in the distance that he couldn't reach yet said something in a rough, raspy whisper. Crane moaned softy, trying to raise his heavy hands to his face to touch the person lightly slapping him, to tell them to stop. His wrists hurt, something was digging into him. The thought came to him slowly. Like trying to run in thick mud or loose sand. Where am I?

"Waa-ke up..." Joker said, tapping Crane's face with one hand while keeping his head up with the other. As Crane tried to lift his hands to his face the scared villain gave a short gust of laughter that crackled and bounced off of the walls. Crane's eyes fluttered open and looked around dizzily, Joker watched as the large blue eyes moved around shiftily, trying to get visual purchase. He could smell fear coming off of Crane, hot and sweet like the smell of sex but also bitter. The pale man made a choking sound as Joker slipped the thin wire frames of his glasses onto his nose. The blue eyes widened and his brows lifted in a look of understanding terror. Joker lowered his face to Crane's and looked into his eyes behind the glasses, lifting the man's chin at the same time. They were nearly nose to nose and the Joker breathed in the soft minty smell of Johnathan's breath as it came out in panicked bursts.

"I thought you were in Arkham...?" whispered Crane, his throat clicking as he talked. He was suddenly very aware of the Joker's hands resting on the sensitive skin of his neck were it felt like a bruise was forming. "I thought they locked you up...?" Johnathan's eyes shifted over the other man's scared face. He had never met Gotham's biggest threat face to face before, he let his eyes roam over the deep marks in the make-up the Joker wore, the red paint crammed into the mangled skin. Winced inwardly, thinking of the violence that must have brought those marks. Apparently Joker claimed that any number of events lead to the scars from abusive parents to chemical spills to kitchen accidents. No one seemed to be able to get the back story on this man. The clown shook his head and leaned away from Crane, still keeping his hand locked possessively on his neck.

"Thaa-t dosen't really concern you..." He licked his lips, looking down at the thin man below him. The way his wide eyes looked behind the gleaming panes of glass... The soft skin of his defenceless throat under his hand, the way the flesh rippled and rumbled when Crane spoke. How long has it really been? Thought the man, feeling a slow heat build in his gut. "I need you to maa-ke something for me, Craaa-ne." The Joker ran his tongue across his own lips, wetting them yet again before he spoke. He lifted the other hand in the air and made a slow turning gesture with it. "I aaaa-sked you before... To -uh... Do it for me through... An -uhmm- contact?" Joker moved quickly, bringing the slowly turning hand out of the air swiftly. It met with Crane's defenceless cheek and a loud crack echoed through the room. Crane cried out pitifully, like a kicked puppy and fell off of the chair onto his back.

Crane didn't expect the fiery burn as the Joker's hand met his face, the force of it expelling him from the chair he was seated in. The cry issued from his throat as he felt the soft flesh on his bottom lip crack. The barely felt blood leaked down his chin, Crane's tongue slithered out of his mouth and tasted the metallic flavor. Joker stepped off of the table and Johnathan watched as he took off his long purple coat and laid it on the table he'd been sitting on. Crane tried to scramble away using his elbows, digging them into the rough floor and pushing with his feet. The Joker was on him in seconds, wrapping his strong hand around the prone man and slapping him again, on the other side of his face. Crane's glasses went flying across the room, bouncing on the floor and skittering into a corner. Johnathan cried out again and felt his cheek burn, the Joker straddled him around the middle holding him down with his weight while he pulled the sleeves of his multi coloured dress shirt up around the lean muscles of his forearms.

Joker felt the burn in his lower stomach uncoil as he felt Crane struggle underneath him and the clown tightened the muscles in his thighs to hold the other man more securely. He felt his heart rate go up as his crotch pushed against Crane's flat stomach. Joker grabbed Crane around the shoulders and shook him hard, his head snapping back bonelessly for a moment before getting rigid. The clown stopped and raised his hand again, Johnathan winced away his cuffed hands coming up to cover his face. Joker leaned forward, pushing his growing bulge against the doctor's midriff, he pulled Crane's hands above his head and forced his face down toward the other man's. "So... You uh..." He looked at the blood on the soft vulnerable pad of the dark haired man's lip, while he licked his own appreciatively as if tasting a fine wine. "You waaa-tered down the, umm, mixture..." His hand crept up and held Johnathan's face in place, the doctor was scared and it came off of him in waves only feeding the Joker's growing lust.

"I'll make it again! I'll do it right this time!" He whispered harshly, struggling under the weight of the Joker... Wait... What is that? He asked himself. Feeling something hard pushing against his stomach. He could feel the heat there, crushing against him, his eyes widened as he looked back at Joker's face. Suddenly his mouth was hot, he looked at Joker's open eyes as he pressed his lips against Crane's, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of the lower pad. Johnathan moaned slightly, it strangled in his throat as the criminal's warm soft tongue pushed hungrily into is mouth. The probing muscle twined with his own as it slithered into his mouth. The sensation of the scar tissue on his soft lips as he was forced to open his mouth wider, Joker pushed harder into his mouth and shoved his arms farther back. There was a painful burn in his shoulders and he tried to pull away from the kiss, Joker ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth and Crane shuttered. There was no love in the kiss, it was hunger and lust and insanity... Crane felt himself pull away again, not wanting to be part of it.

Joker's frustration with the man under him only made him more forceful, pulling his head up. The taste of Crane's mouth meeting his, minty and hot and sweet. The taste of blood was there to, and the clown sucked on the bottom pad, nibbling on the soft skin. He let his tongue linger on the broken skin for a moment, hearing Crane moan like a whore. The green haired man found himself grinding his hips against the submissive body below him, he was sweltering under his purple suit and felt that he couldn't take it anymore. He got off of Crane and pulled his mildly struggling body over to the chair where he sat him. The clown was on the table in a moment, Crane panted and looked at him with terror in his eyes. "Please... Please you don't want to do this!" Crane stammered as he watched Joker unbuckled his belt and button down his pants, all the while looking at Crane like a starving man. "I've- I've never done any thing like - UGH!" He was cut short when the Joker slapped him across the face and grabbed his collar at the same time to prevent him from tumbling off of the chair again.

"JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Barked Joker, fiery anger showing for a moment as he hooked his heals behind Johnathan's chair and pulled him forward. He didn't care what Crane said, how he pleaded. The clown needed to feel the heat of the other man's mouth on him and he was going to have it whether or not he had to force it. He yanked Crane up by the collar to his mouth as he finally freed his pulsing cock from his pants. The doctor's shocked mouth met his with out resistance, he crushed the thin man's lips to his and burrowed his tongue into him. His own hand coiled around his member and pumped slowly in time with the kisses, each time his tongue probed into Crane's mouth he stroked up to the top of his dick. "Take it... Just -ugh yes!" Whispered the Joker as he pushed Cranes head down. He used little force before his member disappeared past the soft reddened lips of the other man. The clown took fistfuls of his dark hair and held Crane there for a moment. His own scared mouth opening into a pleasured 'o' as he felt Crane's throat spasm around the head of his cock, squeezing the tender neglected skin. The thin man, the object of Joker's sexual frustration gaged and pulled his head back only to be pushed back down onto the throbbing hard skin.

Crane couldn't believe what was happening to him. He tried to pull himself into his proverbial happy place as he felt the hot, clean flesh slide in and out of his mouth and throat easily. He was sucking cock like some boy whore, hearing the moans and small noises of pleasure that issued from the man in his mouth. He began to take some kind of sick pleasure in it as he wriggled is tongue against the bottom of the clown's dick he was only encouraged by the soft orgasmic sigh from above. Crane breathed through his nose as there really wasn't that much time that his mouth wasn't stuffed. He smelled soap and smoke from the Joker and his own fear and sweat and the smell of sex. Crane found himself massaging a growing bulge of his own under the table, feeling his penis fill with blood and tent his pants. Joker started to grow slightly louder and he bucked his hips, now holding Crane's head on either side.

"Look aaat me..." He whispered and was pleased when Crane's light blue eyes came into view. He could see that the slut had begone to like what was happening to him and the Joker watched as the man sucking his cock shifted his arms slowly under the table. "You like this... Ugh... Don't you?" Said the clown, leaning back now and simply holding Crane's head in place as he began to thrust inside the submissive soft mouth. The head of his cock bet against the back of Crane's throat and every time he pulled back out he could feel the man's soft tongue swirl around the shaft. There was a soft scrape of teeth against his dick, shooting pain and pleasure through him. He sat up and coiled his upper body around Crane, holding his head in place. The Joker came silently and forcefully, his eyes and mouth clamped closed as he put the weight of his upper body on Crane's shaggy head. He felt his balls tense one finial time as the last bit of his seed shot into Crane's throat. He felt the man swallowing each spray as if it were water in the desert. "Guh..." The Joker said, leaning back and licking his own lips, he felt his hot lower back touch the cold metal as he rode the post orgasm waves. He felt his penis slowly wilt and tucked it carelessly back into his pants as he buckled his belt.

Crane leaned his head back as soon as the Joker let him go from his vice like grip. His neck hurt, his jaw ached and he felt used and empty. Something landed on his chest and he looked down a blue silk handkerchief. The door to the room he was in closed and the Joker was gone. Crane looked at the scrap of fabric, stained with blood, there was spidery writing in what seemed to be black felt pen, he read it out loud. "Have it done in one week. I'll come to get it. Clean yourself up." Johnathan looked at the message for a moment, utterly confused, then the realization dawned in him. The clown wanted the formula ready in a week, the same order as before. Looked up as two men walked in, one huge and bear like walking behind a slimmer one who was holding a bottle and a scrap of what seemed to be a tee-shirt. Crane barely had time to wonder before the chloroform was shoved over his mouth, consciousness slipped away again, painlessly this time in soft waves. He barely stayed awake long enough to hear the ghost of a voice from one of the thugs.

"Boss sure did a number on him... Look at the bruises..." They had no idea.


	4. We Three Kings

_Fear_

_A Joker X Scarecrow (Johnathan Crane) Slash._

_By Zombie-Ta_

_Don't like it? Get the FUCK out._

_Also, I'm writing as "The Dark Knight" (NOLAN-VERSE) style just because Cillian Murphy and Heath Ledger action is just too sweet to pass up, yeah?_

_Disclaimers - There's going to be smut in this story as it goes on. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot of it. It's male on male, homosexual and very explicit._

_I have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do._

_I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do._

_Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock._

_------------_

_Alrightly._

_So. Author's note again. I sure like bullshitting at the beginning of these, don't I? It really helps if you READ these things too, my dear viewer. Anyway, after a little bit of a vacation I am back with another mind numbing chapter of the story. I'm sure you all creamed in your pants in the last chapter, but still demand more. Which is ridiculous. As always, I expect SOME KIND of feedback, if not I don't write any more! Yeah. I do love attention, you're right._

_So. Here... We... Go! _

_..._

_That really was terrible. Pardon my hideous pun -.-' _

**Fear**

_**Chapter Four - It's Oh So Quiet**_

The water had run cold by the time he came to consciousness. He moved limply, like a rag doll slowly coming to life. Like a man stoned Crane floated in and out of the dark sea of wakefulness and began to piece together just what was happening. The white room, his attempt of making the bathroom look a little more pleasant then his primarily grey, dusting living quarters. He noticed small things at first, his brain totally severed from the activity of his body, the way that there was still grime in the floor and wall tiles that he had not gotten to. He felt cold all over, but pleasantly so, like the idea of snow on a too hot day. He leaned his head back on the rim of the claw foot tub, feeling sweat prickle all over him. His nose burned and his eyes felt watery and slow, tongue too dry and unable to move normally. Not to mention the strange taste in his mouth, salty and strangely buttery with a nutty flavor. Crane narrowed his eyes for a moment, grabbing onto the real world with both hands and drawing himself out of the groggy post abduction shock. It wasn't really a 'what did I do last night' type of moment. More or less an 'oh fuck'.

Crane felt himself go numb for a moment, his jaw locking painfully into place. The image of the Joker, his head leaned back showing the clear white like where his face paint started and his skin ended. The taste of him inside Crane's mouth, pumping and pulling, thrusting deeper into his mouth. The pale man gagged and tumbled out of the claw footed bathtub, his suit spreading water everywhere. He'd been sitting in the tub with the shower head spraying on his lower body for go knew how long. Distantly he thought about the fact that he'd have to get the suit dry cleaned as he scrambled over to the toilet and retched. He felt his toes coil inside his wet shoes and socks as he let himself vomit with his eyes closed tightly. When he finished the doctor slammed the top down and flushed in one smooth movement, his head was spinning and he didn't want to see what was leaving in the rust of water. Crane wanted to let it rot in Gotham harbour and get over what had happened, he sat back onto the floor and felt himself start to cry.

He felt like a whore, he'd been used and he had done nothing to do to stop it. He kept on trying to rationalize, saying that the clown would have split him from end to end if he'd... If he'd what? Resisted, bit him for Christ's sake? Crane shook himself, rubbing at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He'd lost his glasses as well during the time, one more thing to worry about. Crane stood stiffly, his neck ached his jaw felt tight and sore. The warm water made happy little steam clouds in his bathroom, obscuring the mirror and in turn his reflection as he stripped himself of the sticky outer layers of his suit. He felt thin and used and... Well the doctor felt like a slut. Carelessly unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall to the tiles he felt the water, letting it flow over the tips of his fingers for a moment before slipping in.

Crane took a moment to look down at himself. He was thin, most likely too thin, when he stretched his back ribs could be seen though the skin. He let one hand drag over them lazily as he turned his back to the water and dampened his hair, always a little too dark and a little too messy for his appearance. The heat loosened the muscles in his back and he gave a soft sigh. He wanted to scrub himself raw, inside and out, the idea of drinking bleach came into his head from somewhere but was quickly pushed off. Settling for a simple scrubbing with scentless soap and a face cloth Crane left the shower feeling better, even if it was only slightly. He walked, dressed in boxer shorts and a crisp, stolen, white tee-shirt. He needed to work, to get that done for Joker, lest something worse happen to him. He remembered all the people that had fallen for that man to get what he wanted and shivered as he sat down at his desk.

Formulas were never a problem for the doctor, numbers and compounds came easily to his head as if found lying around in his brain's open space. He quickly combined some Cannabinoid receptor angonist formulas, a basic recipe for PCP, with an NMDA a harsh mix of THC together. The drawings flowed easily from his hand to the paper, his face emotionless and calculating, he moved the fingers on his right hand touching the soft pads to the smooth wood of his desk in quick succession. He narrowed his eyes as the conjoined letters and numbers, feeling like Timothy Leary deducing things in his basement or something.

Crane gave up early, his brain kept on turning to a dark place in the corner of his skull where he kept his bad images and feelings. Wanting to think over what had happened to him, like he had forgotten some detail. Blocking a thought was like not letting your tongue poke and prod at a tiny cut in your mouth, thought Crane as his television flickered in the no-light of his apartment in the narrows. The news flashed across the screen, mostly unseen by Crane. He knew what he was looking for, some sign that the Batman had found out the Joker and that scar faced bastard was back in the loony bin where he belonged. The doctor drummed his fingers against the side arm of the couch, remembering when he had found a dead cat plastered to the underside of the cushion. He looked around at the small apartment, it was barren mostly. There was the flowered sofa that he sat on, his television, the kitchen counter, complete with a white stove stained in several places where some junkie was hard-up for a hit. His favorite part of the whole place had to be the bed, it's soft twin blanket seemed to be calling him over. The soft pillows singing a siren song for his head, he needed real sleep, and yet the need to stay awake was also there... Crane settled for looking at it between news casts.

After more then an hour of waiting for the broadcast that would never come Crane went to bed grudgingly, a child after being denied a snow day. He coiled into a loose fetal position, bringing his long legs up to nearly his chest and laying his skinny arms around himself. It was late into the night, early morning... Darker then Crane was used to because he'd shut his blinds to block out the unsightly vision of The Narrows from slipping into his gaze now and then. Crane often questioned why people would live here by choice, why people would move here to live with their families. The shouts, catcalls and shots from the outside still filtered trough the doctor's tightly shut windows and it was the lullaby that he'd been slipping off to dreamland with for a few months. Ever since he'd been forced here after getting out of Arkham the second time. It had been his hospital for over a year. His kingdom. Did they really think that he would be chained for that long?! Not the Scarecrow! Not him!

Crane's eyes snapped open at that thought, they looked around the blurry room for a moment shiftily. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that had been changed in his line of sight. Scarecrow always made him feel like he was being watched, like something that he didn't know was going on in the dark clockwork of his head. These kind of things made him scared and worried for his health. Under his own drug plan he had most of the control of himself, nearly all the parts. But the fear was still there, like a crusted over cut, ready to tear open and bleed, bleed, bleed like new. "Bleed, bleed, bleed..." Whispered Crane as he thought the words. His thin body shifted under the covers as he moved slightly to get a better view of the room.

The slow crawl of terror was working up his back, slithering past in shoulder blades and resting in the back of his mind. He felt heavy, eyelids dragging down like lead. He shook his shaggy head slightly. Sleep was a bad thing when the terror was around, he didn't want those sorts of dreams right now. The ones filled with the liquid black face of The Batman. His eyes closed against his will, the thick black eyelashes tickling the soft underneath of his lids. His breath became slow and patterned for a moment before he jumped and opened his eyes again.

Crane looked at himself in the mirror now, wide blue eyes set in chalky skin with heavy dark circles of sleeplessness under them. Shadowed in black lashes that matched his naturally wavy hair. He looked like an addict, his sunken stomach and long fingered hands with chewed nails. The shiftiness of his eyes that never seemed to stay still in his head for long. He narrowed those icy eyes and leaned in to look at himself, the cut on his bottom lip had healed the blood caked in a small brown rivet. Johnathan moved his spidery hands to his lip, which he pulled on, feeling the soft skin give under his hand and the cut open back up. He looked down at the blood on his hands, feeling it between his fingers as more dripped from the cut. He was faintly aware of a burning pain before hot hands grabbed his thin hips from behind. He gave a short cry as he was turned around to face that horrid red grin and felt the man push himself against Crane, leaning him backward over the sink. They were face to face, Crane cold only stammer and look at those round eyes, ringed with black make-up like two jewels in dark stone.

One hand moved under his shirt, the other was somewhere behind Crane, planted on the wall and preventing any escape. The man's tongue rasped out of his mouth, lingering in almost a sensual way at the torn corners of his mouth. The doctor was temped to do the same as the clown's tongue slipped past his canine teeth the pink skin pulling down the sharp white teeth. The purple gloved hand that had slipped under Johnathan's shirt had moved around to the back and they were now pressed together, hip to hip. "Wha?" Began Crane, but the sentence was quickly transformed into a sharp gasp that was part shock and part pleasure. The probing finger, owned by the grinning man who had the hungry eyes of a wolf had caressed an area that Crane was normally only slightly aware of. The doctor gasped again as the contact was made more apparent, his hips bucked, pushing himself into Joker's hips. The clown grinned again, pushing the scars past his ears and showing a wide array of teeth behind those sloppy lips.

The grin came closer, lingering in front of Johnathan's mouth. The doctor felt himself part his lips slightly, tasting the Joker's breath like a slow smokey leak. His eyes half closed as he cocked his head to the side slightly. He didn't question it, he knew now that he wanted whatever was coming and his body was ready for it, it seemed to have control of him as he moved to allow the other man more access to the spot between Crane's cheeks. The doctor's head was abruptly pushed back, the back of it coming in sharp contact to his bathroom mirror, he left the warm trickle of blood mix with the strands of his hair and the slivers of glass there, digging deep. He cried out in pain once, half hearted and numb, then moaned as a soft, slick warmth appeared on is neck. Then there was suction on his unprotected neck, the occasional nick of teeth and the hardened rasp of scar on creamy skin. Johnathan found his own hands searching for their own purchase on this creature of lust and pain. Hands slipping hesitantly into the oily mass of curls, down onto his back of his neck and moving to stroke slowly down the collar bones hidden under a teal silk shirt.

Lost in sensation, Crane felt his hands wander while his own body reacted in it's way. Relaxing and contracting around the finger that was now becoming more pleasure then pain, digging into him as teeth clamped onto his neck between aggressive licks and kisses. He was roughly turned around, bending over the sink by a hand on his lower stomach, he righted his stance and braced for it. The sound of belts being undone and a zipper getting angrily torn down as well as slopping panting and the soft sound of cloth meeting tile. Johnathan looked up into the broken mirror and looked into his own face with a slight look of disgust as his boxers were ripped down his legs. "Aaa-re... Uh - are you reaa-dy?" Said the clown, Cranes suddenly supper sensitive ears picked up the sloppy sound of his lips being licked. He looked into the mirror again, the facets of his face splintering here and there... The burlap face of Scarecrow looked at him from behind, it's stitch grin pulled up grotesquely, snowing a maw of teeth and maggots rolled out freely. He laughed as Crane turned around and skittered away from it, covering his head and screaming. His throat felt that it was going to split open, like his brain stem would snap or his ear drums would explode out of his head.

He could still hear the his own tortured screaming and Scarecrow's harsh, crackling laughter when he sat up in bed. His eyes snapping open so fast it hurt, he looked around and pulled the blanket to his chin. He was sweating, so much that the blanket was damp and his hair hung in loose curls. It had been a dream? All of it? Crane panted and leaned back onto his elbows, whipping his head and face with one hand while the other roamed to his neck. Johnathan felt his Adam's apple bob under his skin as he swallowed several times, breathing quickly out of his mouth as he tried to get control of himself. Crane lay on his back and squeezed his eyes closed, already some of the dream had disappeared. He felt unhurt, so that meant that it was in truth a night terror... His eyes slowly opened in confusion, he looked down his bony chest to a bump in the blanket. Something hot and hard lay against the soft skin of his thigh, Crane's eyes widened as he lifted the blanket.


	5. In View

_Fear_

_A Joker X Scarecrow (Johnathan Crane) Slash._

_By Zombie-Ta_

_Don't like it? Get the FUCK out._

_BLAM_

_I'm back yet again. More smut in this one, I think. Maybe Crane-fap... Yeah, there's going to be that. Really I think there'll only be two more of these after this one. Chapters I mean. I should start doing something else. If you have any suggestions, that aren't Harry Potter, for a theme then make a comment._

_By that I mean that if you happen to have a favorite story or show or something that you think you'd like me to write something for, I'll think about it. Hell. I'll most likely end up doing it. _

_Anyhow. If any of you really read these, I thank you. I can ramble on sometimes. Well whatever. Back to the usual disclaimer._

_Disclaimers - There's going to be smut in this story as it goes on. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot of it. It's male on male, homosexual and very explicit._

_I have taken liberties with the characters, as most writers do._

_I don't own any of the characters in this story, Bob Kane and his wonderful team do. (also Christopher Nolan, apparently)_

_Let's all thank him for writing such a lovely world with such OBVIOUS gay under tones. Thanks Bob, you rock. (and Chris, too)_

**Fear**

_**Chapter Five - In View**_

Crane was used to his mind playing games on him. For most of his life he'd had nightmares, the antagonists to his fidgeting sleep. After the problem with the Batman a few years ago, the nightmares had only gotten worse. Sometimes they were long and drawn out, things that seemed like entire lifetimes played out in his head between different levels of running scared. Others were short, quick and scaring, creepy things. Things with vast amounts of violence, the kind that sticks in your head like a splinter that digs under the nail and festers. His breath was quick and sweat had collected on a cold film all over his body, that reaction was the same every time he awoke after having a bad dream. Johnathan shivered and twitched uncontrollably, his skin seemed to be hyper sensitive to everything. His clothes were maddeningly tight, the blanket on his lower half was crushing his thin body under it's weight. It was oppressive, he had to be free of them.

Then he would have to face the only thing that differentiated this dream from all the others. Crane peeked under the covers again, letting his hot-cold skin meet the air with a welcoming sigh from his pores. He'd felt a familiar twisting in his lower stomach, like a hot snake uncoiling there, he resisted a slight gasp as he felt the suddenly rough cloth of his boxers rub against what lay there. His hand was moving slowly toward his crotch before he knew what he was really doing, the contact nearly made him see stars, he leaned his head back and bit the clotted cut on his lip, relishing the pain as it opened up again. His hand worked slowly, with a mind of it's own on the part of him that most called for touch, rubbing and tugging at the hardening, hot skin under the light blue plaid cotton underwear. The left hand of Johnathan Crane worked his shirt up over the doctor's pale midriff, gently stroking it's thumb across the man's slight chest, pausing at the neglected pink bumps before settling across his chest like a resting bird.

He'd never felt like this. Not since he'd been a teenager, not like he was hiding from someone and doing something naughty, something that was shameful. He should feel shameful, having some sort of sick wet dream about a man who violated him. A man who had killed countless people a freak, a psychopath... A monster. Crane felt his hand work himself past the band of his underwear, and shuttered at the feeling of skin on skin. Already he was leaking lubricant, his body fooled by his hand all to eagerly. Johnathan moved as if in a daze and removed his damp tee-shirt and shorts, feeling less human with no clothes. Perhaps he could get through this quickly and push it back to where he kept the bad things in his head at bay.

The air was cold compared to the warmth of his blankets, which he used now to prop one lanky leg up as he adopted a comfortable position. His thin fingered hand tangled into the blanket as he pulled at himself, toes curling nearly painfully. The sensation of his tugging, cool hand on the hot, hard thing that seemed to be controlling his mind for a moment was delicious, he felt his spine prickle and his mouth grow dry and wet alternately. The doctor made a long, slow growl, grinding his teeth together in a look of pain or anger. His eyes were closed, locked in the same look of furry or anguish that his mouth adopted. His strokes had grown violent, he felt the tendons in his arm stand out with the quick viciousness of his movements. Crane's other hand was knotted in the blanket, delicate fingers burrowing nails into the soft material.

Thoughts moved through his mind in that time while he lay there. Not real thoughts with words and patterns, rather images or tastes and smells. The Joker kneeling to meet the face of the man he had shot, the way he almost lovingly slapped at the dead's face... Like a father giving his son a playful pat on the back after a hard lost softball game. But it was fake, that pat, you could see it and feel it. Fake and treacherous. The taste of his father's cooking, spaghetti, heavy on tomatoes and garlic. The smell of gun smoke, sweat and soap on Joker's skin with lingering traces of blood like a garnish. Feeling skin on skin, feeling the burn and sting as Joker slapped him... Or was that his father? His back arched and he began to moan through his clamped teeth, the lean muscles on his arms standing out as his body seemed to crumple against it's self for a moment. The finial grunt from the clown, the feeling of him releasing... That ending spasm of muscle and bone... The very meat of the soul seemed to reverberate from that one sound.

"Uh!" His body went hard for a moment, stone sculpted at the moment when the human body is most animal, his back arched and his shaggy head pushed into the pillows. The only movement was the curling of his toes and the slowing strokes of his hand, his heart seemed to have stopped beating for a moment... The world ceased moving as he splattered ropes of thick white cum over his stomach and chest. His hand released the blankets and his stokes became slow and soft, squeezing the last of himself out of his shrinking member. Crane's head had fallen over to the side, his breathing came in quiet gusts, his face had flushed and he could feel a slight heat there.

The water was unpleasantly cold as it ran down the angles of his body ten minutes later. Crane scrubbed himself hard for the second time that day, his brain once more turning to the bleach under the bathroom sink. He had looked ill when he came into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, the same mirror that he had broken in his dream. The skinny man gave a cautionary glance behind his shoulder, looking over the tiny darkness of his apartment. He looked into his eyes for a moment, leaning over the cool porcelain. Dark shadows had gathered under his eyes, which were wide and sacred looking. He was too pale and his lips were pink and feminine, paired with thick eyelashes he almost looked like a girl. Like a faggot, like everyone had been calling him for most of his life. Well maybe he was a faggot?

Crane opened the medicine cabinet with a strange angry speediness, shaking the pill bottles as the door slammed against the wall behind it. The ghostly blue eyes looked around at the uniform white bottles with permanent marker names in his own slashing scrawl. His lips traced the names of the drugs, his mind tick-tick-ticking away like clockwork, formulas, combinations and treatment moved by along with his symptoms beside them. He needed sleep, real sleep, he thought as his hands brushed past the rows of bottles like teeth. Finally his hand closed around a smaller container he looked at the name needlessly diazepam and midazolam mix, a bensodiazepine tranquilizer of his own concoction. He's been taking it for a few months when he was in med school... When the dreams had gotten bad. After he'd moved out.

Now less then five minutes later Crane was feeling them take effect. He turned off the cold water and ran a thin towel carelessly over his scrubbed pink body and slipped back on his boxer shorts, which he had grabbed before going to the bathroom and vomiting. He'd felt sick, yes, but also good but it was a dark kind of good... One that was perhaps a close cousin to the adrenaline that he felt as the Scarecrow, that dark horrible feeling of power and joy. But the pleasure he had just felt was not power, it was weakness. It wasn't Scarecrow that had came onto his creamy pale chest. It wasn't Scarecrow who had allowed himself to be taken advantage of... Again. Crane thought more and more sluggishly as he curled into his bed for the second time that night. It was early morning now and he would sleep through the day, he never even noticed that his glasses had been placed on the bedside table... Or the ghost of body heat in his bed as he drifted off to a drugged sleep.


End file.
